


Caught In A Bad Romance

by Just_A_Simple_Writer



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (Just kidding), Incomprehensible Michael Distortion, It/Its Pronouns For Michael | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives), Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Mirror Sex, Or More Like, Other, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Sub Gerard Keay, Trans Gerard Keay, feelings with porn, gerry has a praise kink and if you disagree youre wrong, given the ratios of feelings and porn, heavy projection from me, michael distortion's glowcum, sometimes a guy just needs to get praised and also fingered by his incomprehensible bf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:27:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28114629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_A_Simple_Writer/pseuds/Just_A_Simple_Writer
Summary: “You’re thinking too much,” it tells him, pressing a finger to his forehead.“Then make me stop.”Something mischievous appears in its eyes and it pulls away a little, tracing one sharp finger down his cheek. “Would you like that, dear one?”
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 84





	Caught In A Bad Romance

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so i have no idea what this is. enjoy

Gerry isn’t _dating_ the distortion. They’re not even friends, really. It just has a habit of showing up whenever he needs to blow off steam, but it doesn’t _mean_ anything.

It doesn’t mean anything at all.

Today’s been … terrible. He spent most of it hunting down a Leitner for Gertrude and nearly lost an eye, only to have her barely acknowledge it when he got back.

_Thank you, Gerard. Take a look at this statement._

He doesn’t hate her, and he doesn’t help her to impress her, but the occasional _how are you_ would be nice. Maybe a _you’re doing a great job. Take tonight off_.

Whatever. He’s used to it.

It’s nearly three am when he gets home, and he should be dead on his feet, but his mind is so awake that he knows he won’t be able to sleep, so he doesn’t even bother trying. Just finds a lukewarm beer in a cupboard and throws himself onto the sofa to drink it.

He’s barely surprised when he hears a door creak open.

“Hello, bookburner.”

“Michael.”

Michael giggles, coming around so it’s standing in Gerry’s field of vision. It gives him a bit of a headache, but he’s used to it by now.

“You’re tired.”

Gerry groans, crumpling the beer can in his hand. “Brilliant observation, Sherlock.”

“Perhaps you should rest.”

“No point.”

Michael giggles again, coming a little closer and sitting on the floor by the sofa. At least, Gerry thinks it’s sitting. Its hard to tell, really. He could reach out to touch it, if he wanted to, but he doesn’t.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, though he knows already.

Michael smiles, wide and incomprehensible. “I thought you might want some company.”

“I guess so.”

“Yes.”

Michael shifts closer, until its head is resting on the couch. The parts it’s touching are slowly turning magenta, but Gerry doesn’t really care.

He doesn’t reach out to touch it, so instead it touches him, running something like a hand up his leg.

For a moment he considers telling it to fuck off, telling it he’s too tired tonight, but he doesn’t really want to do that and it would be a lie anyway.

“Come up here,” he says, and it listens, though the way it moves isn’t exactly conventional.

Gerry kisses what might be a mouth and feels hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

“What do you need, bookburner?” Michael asks, tipping his head up a little.

He just shrugs. “Kiss me.”

It smiles at that, leaning down to kiss him and nipping gently at his lip. It draws blood, and he doesn’t realise until it pulls away, blood staining its lips.

He wipes a hand across his mouth and it comes away bloody.

It doesn’t really matter, in the end. He almost likes it, actually. At least he _can_ still bleed. At least he’s still human.

Michael doesn’t have that luxury, but Gerry doesn’t know if it cares.

“You’re thinking too much,” it tells him, pressing a finger to his forehead.

“Then make me stop.”

Something mischievous appears in its eyes and it pulls away a little, tracing one sharp finger down his cheek. “Would you like that, dear one?”

Gerry just freezes for a moment, mind going blank. Michael's never said anything like that to him before. _No one’s_ said anything like that to him before.

Michael only laughs, stroking a hand through his hair in a way that’s almost gentle. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

Gerry swallows, hard. The words _don’t call me that_ die on his lips.

He doesn’t think he minds.

“Come,” Michael says, standing up in a way that’s almost graceful and pulling on Gerry’s hand. Gerry hadn’t even registered it _taking_ his hand, but he follows it out of the lounge and into his too-small bedroom regardless.

Michael doesn’t seem to fit in the room, but somehow it seems comfortable as it guides him through his own room and over to the bed.

It sits down, though he’s still eye-to-eye with it, even like this. It should be impossible, really, but so many things about Michael should be impossible.

Gerry hesitates for a moment, almost waiting for it to tell him what to do. It feels … wrong, but it had offered him something, and he thinks he wants that.

It watches him for a moment, scrutinising him, and then reaches out and pushes him gently to his knees. A part of him rebels a little, but a considerably bigger part doesn’t mind. Likes it, even.

“Good boy,” Michael coos, tipping his head up a little, and that pushes him totally off-base, sends him reeling.

No one’s treated him like this before, and he can’t fathom why Michael would. It doesn’t … it can’t actually _care_ about him.

“Shh,” it murmurs, sliding a hand into his hair. “You think too much.”

_Yeah_ , some part of Gerry’s mind agrees. Michael's right here, offering him a distraction, why shouldn’t he take it?

“Distract me,” he says, and his voice comes out sounding more desperate than he had intended.

Michael grins, and he gets the impression that maybe that was its plan all along.

“Of course.”

He’s always been sort of amazed by the way it undresses, clothes unravelling off its body like a string pulled out of a woollen jumper and forming into a pile on the floor that somehow looks like a normal shirt (abet horribly patterned) and a normal pair of trousers.

He’s always amazed by Michael, at the way everything around it becomes a little more incomprehensible, and maybe that’s why he likes it.

It tangles its hands in his hair and guides his head forwards. He’s not certain what it’s genitals actually _are_ , but it shudders when he flicks his tongue against them, and he figures that’s good enough.

It’s easy to lose himself, after that, focusing on making Michael feel good. Its moans are loud in his quiet apartment, and they don’t sound quite right, but they sound … good.

Michael strokes its hands through his hair as he works, twisting strands of it around its fingers and every so often tugging gently, guiding him. It’s nice. It feels good, letting go for once.

“Good boy,” Michael says again, after a few minutes, and Gerry shivers a little. “You’re doing so well for me.”

He doesn’t know how to deal with the praise. No one’s ever bothered to praise him for _anything_ before, and he can feel tears stinging his eyes.

He blinks them away and tries to focus on something else, on the feel of Michael on his tongue, and for a while it works.

At least until Michael comes on his lips, sticky and sweet, and Gerry has a moment to come back to himself.

“Oh,” Michael breathes, apparently needing no time at all to recover, “you’re so good for me. Such a good boy.”

Gerry can’t help but whimper softly, and Michael's not-quite-a-face crinkles into a smile.

“Come here,” it says, pulling him up and into its lap, turning him so he can see himself in the mirror opposite his bed.

“Look at you,” it tells him, wrapping its arms around his waist, and he realises his mouth and chin are stained. He knows Michael's come stains, has had it on his skin enough in the past, but he’d forgotten in the moment.

He looks a mess, to be honest, eyeliner beginning to smudge and fluorescent blue smeared across his mouth, and he doesn’t want to look at his reflection.

Michael looks even more incomprehensible in the mirror, and Gerry tries to focus on it instead of himself, but it’s not having that.

“No,” it says, gently taking his face in one hand and twisting it so he has to meet his own eye. “Look. Aren’t you beautiful?”

Gerry closes his eyes. _No_ , he wants to say, but he gets the feeling that’s not the right answer.

Michael clicks in a way that seems disapproving. “Yes you are.” He feels fingers dancing across his face, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “You look like _mine_.”

His eyes fly open and meet Michael's in the mirror. It’s grinning widely, arms wrapped all the way around his chest like thick ropes, and … it’s right.

He looks claimed. Marked. _Owned_.

Maybe he should be scared, but he’s not. He’s never been scared of Michael.

He’s crying, though. He doesn’t even realise until he catches his reflection in the mirror and sees tears shining on his cheeks.

Michael kisses his cheek, far too gentle considering the circumstances. “It’s alright, dear one,” it tells him, stroking fingers down his sides, sliding them under his shirt. “You’re so good. You’re being so good for me.”

Gerry can’t say anything. He thinks if he opens his mouth he’ll just start whimpering.

He’s not like this. He’s _never_ like this. He’s stronger than this.

“Shh,” Michael tells him. “It’s alright.”

“Please,” Gerry asks, and he sounds so _needy_. He isn’t even sure what he’s asking for, but Michael seems to know what it’s doing, and for once he’s happy to just surrender all control.

It slides its hands under his shirt and pushes it up, over his head, throwing it onto the floor as he tries to get himself back under control.

“Good boy,” it praises, as he shifts to allow him to slide his jeans off.

He doesn’t deserve this. He hasn’t even _done_ anything.

“Aren’t you beautiful?” Michael asks, once the last of his clothes are off, and tips his head up so he has to look at himself in the mirror.

He doesn’t say anything, closing his eyes instead, and Michael laughs softly in his ear. “So shy, dear one.”

_I don’t deserve this_ , he wants to say, but he doesn’t. Just lets Michael arrange him in its lap, spreading his legs a little and dancing its fingers up his thighs, though never quite touching where he wants.

“Michael,” he manages to get out, through the knot of emotions in his throat, and it laughs again. He feels lips on the back of his neck.

“Do you want to be good for me, darling?”

He can’t reply, not out loud, but he nods, jerky and embarrassed.

“Good. Good boy. Open your eyes for me.”

Gerry does, though he still does his best to avoid the mirror, staring up towards the ceiling instead.

It’s easier, almost, when Michael is just telling him what to do. He doesn’t have to fight so hard.

It doesn’t say anything, but it angles his head down, and he _knows_ it wants him to watch.

Fine. If that’s what it takes for it to whisper _good boy_ in his ear again. He’ll be good.

“Beautiful, dear one.”

Gerry whimpers softly, watching his reflection’s eyeliner running.

Michael touches him then, like a reward, rubbing him in teasing little circles. It pulls little noises out of his throat, noises that he can’t bite down, no matter how hard he tries.

“Do you want more?” it asks, its tone so teasing.

Gerry nods, a short, jerky motion. He’s still embarrassed, but maybe a little less.

“Good,” Michael says, and pushes one finger into him, almost agonisingly slowly. “You’re doing so well.”

Gerry’s mind is starting to go a little fuzzy around the edges. He doesn’t really know why, but it’s nice. It feels good, and its easier to let go, to let Michael do as it pleases.

It’s so _gentle_ with him, fingering him slow and deliberate, just on this side of not enough.

The last of his self-control is quickly waning, and he’s not even sure why he was bothering to resist in the first place. Michael's fingers inside him feel so good and he _wants_ to be good, wants it to praise him in that soft voice.

His world narrows slowly, until all he’s aware of is Michael, Michael pressed against his chest and Michael's fingers inside of him. Michael here, Michael, Michael, _Michael_.

“It’s alright, darling,” Michael says, and he realises he’s mumbling, jumbled nonsense all tangled together with Michael's name, over and over. “You’re doing so well. You’re so beautiful, so good for me. Such a good boy.”

Gerry shudders and comes hard, over Michael's fingers. It laughs, soft and airy, bringing its fingers up to his mouth, and he automatically flicks his tongue out to lick them.

He still feels fuzzy, a little disconnected from his body, and he doesn’t protest as Michael lifts him up like he weighs nothing and settles him properly on the bed.

It wraps itself around him and holds him, petting his hair gently as he comes down from the high. It doesn’t usually stay this long, but nothing about this is normal.

“Are you alright?” it asks, a while later.

“Yeah,” Gerry says, cuddling closer and throwing an arm over its waist. Its probably not a good idea, getting so close to something like Michael, but right now he doesn’t care. “’M good.”

“Good,” it says, and he feels it kiss his forehead. “Sleep, now.”

Gerry nods, closing his eyes. They need to have a conversation about this, really, but it can wait. For now he falls asleep warm and content, Michael playing gently with his hair.

**Author's Note:**

> its been a hot minute since ive written smut, so i hope this doesn't suck. i haven't edited it At All, so if there are any glaring errors thats my bad. please tell me


End file.
